Ready, Set, Go
by Ruby Casablanca
Summary: The last thing Karen Page expected at the end of a busy day at the paper was to meet Matt's supposed-to-be-dead-psycho-ex-girlfriend. Post 2x13.
A/N: This is my first dive into the Daredevil fandom, so please be kind. This is meant to continue past 2x13 as a way to fix things. Hopefully I captured the characters adequately. Please enjoy!

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Ready, Set, Go

Karen hadn't been to Josie's in weeks. Not since Nelson and Murdock split. Not since she and Foggy went to celebrate his new job right before the holidays...right before Matt and told her he was Daredevil.

At least, she thought it was weeks. It could've been shorter, or longer. Time without Nelson and Murdock ran differently. When she was working at the firm, she always knew what to expect. Days were spent juggling the insanity that was the office, and nights were spent drowning out the days at Josie's with her two best friends/bosses.

Well, that's how it used to be.

Now that she was working for the paper, time got jumbled. The only definites were deadlines, and even those were flexible if she did enough begging and eye lash batting. There was no certainty to her day; one moment she could be at her desk and the next chasing a lead that could last into the early hours of the morning. There were no bosses who were best friends and treated her like family.

And there was no Josie's.

Until tonight that was.

Karen didn't really know why she was there. She was greeted by a vaguely cryptic note on her desk that morning asking for a night on the town. She assumed it was Foggy trying to be sly or maybe even one of her coworkers; some guy whose name she never remembered from sports had been flirting with her for a few days, and she was waiting with bated breath for the awkward come on - too nice to tell him that she wasn't interested in anyone at the moment. Not after what Matt pulled. But the handwriting was too feminine to be a male, so naturally, the reporter in her was interested. Of course, there was the possibility that she was being punked or about to walk into a trap set by one of the many people she and her former bosses had crossed during their stint together.

So, there she was, pulling back the greasy metal handle to the front door of the worst bar in all of Hell's Kitchen. Immediately, nostalgia flooded her system. It was hard for it not to. After all, so many things had happened to and for her there. And it didn't help that literally nothing had changed, from the tacky neon lights to the less than desirable clientele gathered around the pool tables and shady back tables. The air still smelled like cigarette smoke, cheap beer, and piss. Her shoes still stuck to the sticky wooden floors. It was like nothing had changed and Foggy and Matt were about to walk through the door any second.

But everything _had_ changed.

There was one difference Karen noticed, but it didn't have to do with the sights or the smells. It had to do with the people, specifically one female person clad in bright red sitting down on a barstool. Her back was to Karen, but Karen could tell that this woman didn't belong amongst the regulars. She walked up to the bar, right behind the woman in red. The woman must've heard Karen over the noise - how, she didn't know - and before Karen even got a word out, a face Karen had only seen in old photographs and pieced together by memory and reputation came into view.

Her eyes widened. Her heart skipped a beat. Any and all words failed her.

Because what Karen was seeing was impossible.

"You're dead," Karen said bluntly to the ghost at the bar.

"So is Frank Castle, and yet, here we are," the ghost rolled her eyes and gestured for Karen to sit down next to her.

And Karen sat down because, damn her, she was curious. Curious and furious and a million other emotions that came along with coming face to face with Matt's supposed-to-be-dead-ex-girlfriend. Matt didn't tell Karen much, but he told her enough to know that Elektra was a force of nature not to be messed with, and that she should be six feet underground, not sipping on drinks at Josie's.

"But you're really dead. Matt said he buried you. He watched you die in the rooftop fight," Karen insisted. Still, Elektra only sighed and took another drink. She curled her lips in distaste, clearly dissatisfied with the liquor selection since nothing in Josie's was nearly as expensive as her rich self was used to.

"Does Matt know you're alive?" Karen continued, a million questions on the tip of her tongue, her reporter's mind screaming at her how wrong this situation was and to get the hell out now before she ended up skewered and her body dumped in some back alley. But Elektra didn't come for a fight, if her causal manner and visible lack of weaponry was anything to go by. In fact, the more Karen studied the elusive and illustrious woman, the more tired she looked. There was no denying the subtle definition of muscle that no doubt took years of intense training to develop stashed in arms and legs that could snap Karen's bones in seconds. Instead, the tiredness was in her eyes, in the way the her face fell when Karen spoke Matt's name.

"No," Elektra said, her cavalier tone chipping away to something sadder. "And you shouldn't tell him either."

"Why the hell not?" Karen raised her voice loud enough for Elektra to shoot her a pointed glare. "I may not know much about you or what you two meant to each other, but I do know one thing, and that is that Matt has been moping around like a sad, kicked puppy ever since you died."

"I know. I've been watching."

"Then why not tell him?" Karen pushed, and maybe that wasn't the best idea when a ruthless murderess was sitting less than three feet from her, but she couldn't help it. Karen always wanted answers, but something was telling her that getting answers - straight answers - out of Elektra was going to be hard.

"Because it's better this way," Elektra snapped, cutting off any protests Karen tried to make. "You don't understand. Matthew...he always had faith in me, even when I didn't deserve it. He thought I could be better than what I was, and for a time, I believed him. When I...died...I was a hero. I want to remember me like that, not as the thing that I've become."

Again, the questions in Karen's head were swirling.

"Okay, so why are you here then?"

"I've been sitting for hours drinking cheap, repulsive tequila in this God-forsake hellhole because I wanted to finally get the chance to meet you," Elektra smiled, all of the condescension and vitriol Matt had described coming out in full force. Perhaps it was a defense mechanism. Perhaps it was her way of telling Karen to back off. Either way, one thing was for sure: Elektra didn't hold back. "I'd only heard the wonderful things Matthew told me, and then there was that ghastly misunderstanding that ruined your relationship. I can't help but feel a bit guilty about that."

"I walked in on you in Matt's bed, in his shirt, with him standing not too far away," Karen replied blankly, digging up painful memories. "What was I supposed to think?"

"I can't blame you. Matthew and I have quite the history, as I'm sure he's told you by now. But don't worry, you have no reason to feel threatened, at least not anymore," Elektra said, waving Josie over while Karen was gaping like a fish, struggling to find the words to reply. "Another, if you will, and one for my friend."

Josie sneered at Elektra, giving Karen side eye saying something along the lines of 'who the hell was this bitch?' Karen only shook her head helplessly and Josie rolled her eyes, pouring Elektra more tequila and getting Karen a glass that looked discolored and covered in a thin film of dust. Not that either woman was going to say anything to the crotchety bartender. Thankfully, they both knew which battles to fight and which to let go.

"Why do you do that? Call him by his full name?" Karen asked, finger playing on the rim of her glass. It had been bugging her since the start of their conversation. Out of everyone she'd met - client, stranger, friend, or foe - Elektra was the only one who called Matt by his full name.

"I despise nicknames. The only man who ever gave me one tried to have me killed," Elektra replied with a cynical smile, and Karen had no idea how to reply. It wasn't really a laughing matter, but Elektra seemed to find the situation humorous. "Besides, I like the way his name sounds...Matthew. Just like the saint."

"Yeah, well everyone around here calls him the devil," Karen countered under her breath, downing more tequila than she should've, half her drink gone in one gulp. She was going to need it if this conversation was headed where she thought it was.

"Forget everyone. Everyone doesn't matter. What do _you_ think?" Elektra asked, playing devil's advocate, her mischievous eyes dancing with fire in the dim lighting of the bar. "What does the woman who found sympathy for a man who murdered dozens think of the Devil of Hell's Kitchen?"

"Don't do that," Karen warned, her voice wavering at the mention of Frank. "You don't get to do that."

"Do what?" Elektra asked, playing innocent.

"Judge me," Karen replied, burning with a similar fire as Elektra's. "Yes, I was sympathetic towards Frank because he had literally been through hell. He watched his family get massacred right in front of his eyes. So, yes, I wanted to see the good in him. But that in no way justified his actions. And yes, what Daredevil does keeps bad people in jail but that doesn't mean what he does is right. It doesn't mean what... _Matt._..does is right."

Karen wasn't really sure what she was spouting through the memories of broken bodies and blood. Whether she really believed it or not, she wasn't sure. Her moral compass had been spinning out of control ever since she pulled the trigger on the gun that killed Wesley at point blank range. Ever since she found herself agreeing with a man who shredded people like swiss cheese on some rogue quest for vengeance. She didn't know if she believed in what vigilantes did - the nitty gritty gory details that came along with saving the city and fed her nightmares - because she didn't know if she wanted to.

As many days she spent shoving the darker part of Matt's identity out of her mind, she spent just as many nights going through the conversation they had in the office over and over again until she wasn't sure what was real and what she was projecting. Yes, at one point she idolized Daredevil; he had saved her life more than once and put away countless horrible people who would have run Hell's Kitchen into the ground. Without Daredevil, Karen had no doubt that Hell's Kitchen would no longer be standing. But Matt - sweet, oblivious, infuriating Matt - was letting the devil consume him, and that was what Karen didn't agree with. The devil was a parasite, and she couldn't condone the devil if it destroyed the man. That was something Elektra could never understand, because she was just like Matt. It was no wonder they worked so well; they were practically the same person, two of a kind in their own self-made hells.

Elektra only sat back on her stool and looked Karen up and down, reading the words Karen couldn't say right off of her body language.

"Do you want to know what I think?"

"I have a feeling you're going to tell me anyway."

"I think you're not good enough for him. None of us are. And though he may spend his nights beating up the criminals in this pathetic corner of New York, he does it for the right reasons. There is such a light that shines in him. When we were younger, I tried to snuff it out. I'm so glad I failed," Elektra stared off into space, lost down memory lane. When she sighed, her whole body physically slumped under some invisible weight, and when she turned to Karen, something had changed. "Love him, Karen. Love him and never let him go. I can see it in your eyes, you still care about him. So go."

"Is this why you brought me here? To tell me to go and be with Matt?" Karen asked, astounded at her gall.

Elektra's silence was all the confirmation Karen needed.

"Why not you? It's clear that you still love him, probably more than I ever have," Karen continued, knowing it was the truth.

The way she spoke Matt's name like it was delicate, something to be cherished, like it was attached to some of the best memories of her life. The way she looked at Karen with envy even though she herself had beauty, power, and wealth that Karen could only envy. All of the signs were there. They were there in Matt too, in the way he tip toed around the memories of her - the only ones he wouldn't divulge - like those moments were sacred. And the whole time Karen was wondering who could have possible dug their way so deeply inside a man who kept everyone else at a distance. But one look at Elektra and she had her answer.

"Just because you love someone doesn't mean you should," Elektra replied shortly, turning away from Karen to stare into her glass. If Karen wasn't mistaken, she almost looked misty eyed. But this was the 'Black Sky'; she was too tough to be that vulnerable. Instead, she sucked in a deep breath, trying to regain control. "Matthew and I, in a lot of ways, are so similar. We understand one another. We both need the darkness to feel whole. But all we do is ruin each other. We are chaos and rage and passion. And yes, those things may be strong enough to forge a bond but you, Karen. You are a light to match his own. You are the calm to the storm of the devil. And right now, that's what he needs. Not rage or destruction or death...He doesn't need me."

"Yeah well, I'm not the best person to go to for calm," Karen replied sarcastically.

"Why? Because you killed a man in self defense? Matthew has forgiven me for much worse," Elektra said offhandedly, and Karen nearly choked on her drink.

"How the hell did you know about that?" she whispered, now hyperaware their surroundings.

"It doesn't matter. What matters is what you do next," Elektra waved her off, and Karen's patience nearly snapped.

"And what is it that?" Karen asked, tired of this song and dance. She just wanted to know what the hell Elektra wanted her to do so she could go home and curl up into a ball before she had to submit her 2000 words for the paper in the morning. Why couldn't she be like other women and have a boring, normal life? Why did she always attract the crazies and get herself into these messes? She just wanted to be left alone.

"Go," Elektra commanded, the intensity in her dark eyes startling.

And for the first time since the start of their extraordinarily fucked up conversation, Karen felt like she was seeing the real Elektra. Karen was pushing past the layers of snark and attitude and aristocracy to get to the heart of the broken, lonely woman in front of her. It wasn't easy; it couldn't be easy for Elektra to be there, for her to open up to a stranger and give up the only person she was ever capable of loving. But Elektra was doing it, and Karen couldn't understand why.

Whether it was by volition or the look in Elektra's eyes, Karen found herself abandoning her stool and rising to stand. She grabbed her purse off the bar and buttoned up her coat. Why was she leaving? Why was she doing what this crazy woman was asking? It couldn't be because she agreed with her right? Because this was madness - resurrection and assassins and toxic romances that could never be. This was absolute insanity.

But insanity always did have a way of finding Karen.

"You know, he's going to find you someday, and when that day comes, he's going to want answers," Karen said, pulling her jacket closer to her.

"I know," Elektra replied in that strangely sad yet cavalier tone. "I intend to make that day as far away as possible."

"I don't know what you're looking for, but I hope you find it," Karen said, and she meant it. Elektra only looked up at Karen like she had amused her. Karen didn't pry this time; she didn't want bloodthirsty ninjas at her door any time soon.

Karen reached into her wallet to pay for her drinks - the Nelson and Murdock tab had been closed out after all - but Elektra held out a hand to stop her, pushing the cash back at her. "The drinks are on me."

"Thanks," Karen said, her words getting jumbled as she struggled to put her wallet back into the purse on her shoulder.

"The pleasure was all mine," Elektra replied, the corners of her lips pulling up in what appeared to be a genuine smile before it was gone. "Keep him safe for me."

"I will," Karen found herself saying, taking one last look at Elektra, committing the woman to memory, before walking away.

She couldn't have been in the bar more than twenty minutes, yet it felt like once more, everything had changed. The streets were still caked in a layer of grime, criminals still lurked in the shadows, and the city lights were still blinding. Instead it was she who had changed, and maybe this time in a good way.

Turning around and looking through the dirty glass of Josie's front window, Elektra was gone. Karen questioned if she was ever there at all. Someone would've told her if she was just speaking to herself like a lunatic, and Josie sure as hell wouldn't waste 'good liquor' on a ghost, but Karen still had her doubts. She was new to the inner circle of vigilantes and mysticism. Maybe she would learn to accept the impossible; maybe she would keep living in denial.

Either way, she needed to go. Matt's apartment was six blocks away, and the winter chill was unforgiving. Maybe if she got there soon enough, before he put on the suit, they could talk. Because Elektra, ghost or not, was right. Matt needed someone, and though she had her flaws, though at the moment she'd rather punch him than patch him up, she loved him. Maybe not as fiercely or intensely as Elektra, but in her own way, she loved Matt Murdock.

And for now, that was enough reason to go.


End file.
